Memories
by pineapplegrl77
Summary: Casey just won an amazing case, but goes to the bar, lonely and depressed, when memories of her past, the one she left behind, start surfacing again
1. Chapter 1

**I know this is short, but bear with me, more coming in the near future! Read and review please!**

**At the Courthouse**

"Will the defendant please rise," Judge Preston said. "Has the jury reached their verdict?"

"Yes Your Honor, we have," whatever-his-name-was-juror-number-one said.

"On the first count of the indictment, fraud in the first degree, how do you find?"

"Guilty."

"On the second, third and fourth counts of the indictment, identity theft of John Webber, Alicia Rodriguiz and Maria Fisher, how do you find?"

"Guilty"

"And on the final count of the indictment, embezzlement of $100,000, how do you find?"

"Guilty"

"Than you for your time, you are excused." She banged her gavel and that was that. "I will see you at sentencing Mr. Zeebo."Casey let out the breath she was holding and winged a thank-you prayer to God, but then again, she was the prosecutor, not Him..., but it was still up to the jury, so she said thank-you one more time and started to pack up. Behind her she heard the dectectives she had worked with on the case start making plans for going to O'Mallery's.

One would think that after a month and a half of working together to put William Zeebo, Park Avenue socialite, behind bars for ripping of people's tax dollars for years they'd be a little closer, but no. In fact, as she was walking out of the courtroom she heard one of them whisper "Jeez, you know, she's a total bitch, but she's a damn good prosecutor." Casey considered this, was she a bitch? Maybe. She made sure she got what she needed for her case anyway. Was she a damn good prosecutor? Definitely. But the comment still bothered her a little...

**Outside the Courthouse**

"Hey Alexis, heard you won on all counts today." Casey said casually to one of her semi-friends-when-she-wasn't-pissing-them-off, "Wanna come grab a drink with me?"

"Ooh, sorry Casey, I'm going with the boys to O'Mallery's, wanna come?"

"Uhhh, no thanks, that's okay, another day, 'kay?" Casey hated O'Mallery's, not only was it a cop bar, where she had undoubtedly pissed someone off in there, which then got her dirty looks. But she also got looks because she wasn't with a bunch of cop buddies, or buddies period. She sighed and headed towards the bar that was closest to her home.

**At the Bar**

Several beers later she stared into her now half empty glass, sad and alone. _Just another girl, alone at the bar. _That was from some song she was too tired to remember, she had probably heard it on the radio or something. But it was so true, so completely true. How many nights had she sat at the bar, alone, staring into her glass? More than she cared to remember. When she was still living in that hell hole with her father she would buy some beer and just drink it at home. As she stared into the glass memories began to surface,like apples bobbing in one of those tubs. She finished the rest of her drink in one gulp, but they just kept surfacing...


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, sorry this took longer than I thought, I'm not as good at long(er) chapters, but here it is! need I ask you to review? I will anyway. Review please! :)**

**Casey's POV**  
>Little five year old Casey skipped back from her first day of Kindergarten, happy as a clam. Well, not quite. Her shoulder still hurt a little from when Daddy had hit her when she messed up his closet. But she was only trying to find the fairies who Elizabeth, her thirteen year old sister, had told her lived in people's shoes. She had looked through all of Mommy's shoes, and thought she saw something move in Daddy's boots. When he came in he started yelling like she saw him yell at Mommy and sometimes at Lizzie. Daddy had her up on the wall and was squeezing her shoulder when Mommy walked in and started yelling too. Daddy dropped her and started yelling, again. Casey got scared now, everyone was screaming, so she ran out. Lizzie was there waiting for her. She helped her, like she always did when Daddy got mad. Lizzie was thirteen and knew everything.<p>

But that was almost a week ago. She was fine now. They were a family. She had Mommy and Lizzie to protect her, and Daddy when he felt okay. They were a family. Right?

It didn't matter now; she had had a great time at school. She meet Sasha and Alexa and they had played dolls together. When she got home she burst through the door, bursting with stories to tell her mom. She flung open the door and yelled "Mommy! I'm home! I had the greatest time, we played dolls and-"

"Shhh!" Lizzie's hand clamped over her mouth. "Mom and Dad are arguing again, come with me and you can tell me all about school,"

**Lizzie's POV**

When Casey burst through the door I knew she was toast. I tried to stop her, but she was yelling all about school, which I'm sure she was excited about, but she couldn't yell. Mom and Dad were going at it again. Or, more accurately, Dad was yelling at Mom, he was going to start hitting her any second now.

I ushered her into our bedroom and decided to giver her "the talk".

"Casey," I said cutting off her story about some game they had played in Kindergarten. "You know how Daddy sometimes gets mad at Mommy, or even me and you?" She nodded. "Well, he's… sick. Remember how he went and fought in the war, back when you were a baby?" Another nod. "Well, he got a sickness there, and it makes him really really mad sometimes. But you can't tell anybody, because then people might come and takes us away, and separate us. We wouldn't be a family any more. So you can't tell your teacher, or Sasha, or Alexa or anyone else about Daddy, okay?" Casey nodded again, but her lip was quivering. "Come here," I said and swept her up in the tightest hug, until her was squirming to be let go. "You know I love you, you know Mommy loves you, and you know Daddy loves you, even though he's sick, right?" Then I heard Mom's cry, which meant Dad had punched her, hard. I heard his footsteps coming down the hall.

"Princess, I have a surprise for you!" Princess was his nickname for Casey. She looked at me warily, not know whether to go outside and hug her loving father, or hide in the closet from the monster that lived with us. "Hide!" I hissed, he sounded angry. She nodded and dived under the bed, my bed because I had no toys hidden under there. Our door flung open and Dad stomped in, pissed off. God help us, I prayed. I took a deep breath and waited.

"Elizabeth Anne Novak, what are you doing?" Dad's voice boomed. I did all I could to not shake at the sound. "You're supposed to be cleaning the living room!"

"Oh shit," I muttered under my breath. This was not good…

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Dad thundered. "You know I will have no dirty mouths in this household!" He grabbed my hair and started to drag me towards the bathroom. As we were leaving I stole a glance at my bed, sure enough I saw a little red head poking out from under. "MOM, GO!" I mouthed to her.

**Casey's POV (3****rd**** person)**

Casey hid under Lizzie's bed, trying not to make a sound. When Daddy yelled she shrunk back to the farthest corner possible. When Daddy dragged Lizzie out of the room, she dared a peek, just to see Lizzie. Lizzie told her to… go to Mom? Yeah, that was it. She waited until she heard the bathroom door slam shut and ran down the hall to Mommy and Daddy's room.

When she got into their room Mommy was sitting on the floor holding her arm. She guessed that Daddy had hurt her. Again. But she still asked, "Mommy, what's wrong?" Her mother took a deep shaky breath and replied,

"I just hurt my arm, um, well, I tripped on one of your dolls cleaning your room and I, um, fell, and banged my arm on your bed. I, uh, also hit my head…" Casey nodded, swallowing her excuse. "Where's your father?" Casey now looked down, abashed, and whispered,

"Lizzie said a bad word, and Daddy, he, um…" Casey trailed off, but her mother understood. Suddenly, Casey heard foot steps.

"I'll find you, you little monkey! I'll find you and hunt you down like the vermin you are. When I find you you'll be sorry you ever messed with me!" She heard her father snarl. Casey shrunk back, terrified, wondering how this all went wrong after the best first day of school. The door flung open and Casey slipped her hand into her mother's. Her father stomped in, and whirled around, as if he was checking what was inside. Only then did he spot Casey and her mom hiding in a corner. He grabbed Casey's mom and shook her, "Where are they! Where are those rats you're protecting?" He hollered. "And you!" he whirled around to face his daughter. "I know you know something! You better-" He stop and ran at her. He pinned her against the wall, put his face right in front of hers. Casey was more scared than she had ever been, ever. He slapped her across the face, and then he did again. He punched her in the stomach, and when she sank to the ground he kicked her in side, viciously. Suddenly, her mother was up, she wasn't yelling she was trying to calm her husband down.

"Jonathan, Jonathan, calm down," She said quietly, soothingly. When he saw his shoulders loosen a little bit, she gently put her hands on them. "Jonathan, that's your daughter, Casey, she loves you, she misses you, Jonathan, she needs you. Jonathan, come back, breathe, relax." Finally, his breathing slowed, his shoulders slumped and he sunk to the ground, where he put his head in his hands.

"Damnit Diane! It's happening again, I-I don't know what to do, I," he trailed off helplessly.

"We'll find a way. We always do," She whispered. She motioned towards Casey, still lying on the ground, whimpering.

"Casey," He approached her slowly, "Casey, I'm not going to hurt you," She lifted her eyes cautiously. He sank down on the floor next to her. "I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry princess, I never meant to hurt you," he chanted. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She curled up next to him, hugging him. Things would be put back in place, patched up, covered up, and life would go on. But for now, Diane Novak thought, smiling all was well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Hope you like this new chapter. Please, please, PLEASE REVIEW! Lets just have a quick recap of the Novak family**

**Casey Kathleen Novak- Age 9  
><strong>**Elizabeth "Lizzie" Anne Novak- Age 16; older sister  
>Diane Novak- mother<br>****Jonathan Novak- father**

**Any guesses on their father's "disease"?  
>Hint: he got it in Vietnam; do a little research; its not physical<strong>

It was the summer of 1983, Casey was 9, and was having the time of her life. They had rented a small cabin by the beach for a month and were enjoying the sun, sea, and sand. Her father's "illness" still hung over family life, especially during his "fits". He could only hold a part-time job at a local store, where her mother had also been forced to work as a clerk to make ends meet. Together they made enough money to live on, but not much else. Her sister Lizzie was 16 now, and spending less and less time at home. With her mother working all day and Lizzie away Casey was usually the one who took the worst of the blows during the day. Even in the summer, Casey still wore capris' and a shirt with sleeves that went three-quarters of the way down her arms. Her mother and sister were dressed a little more freely, for they each had a thick layer of make-up at their disposal to cover up any bruises. But they were all still enjoying the themselves, her mother and father were sitting on a towel under an umbrella, Lizzie was a ways away flirting with a boy with no shirt on, and Casey was down by the water, chasing a crab.

Jonathan stood up, "I'm going to get another beer," he announced, "Watch the girls," he instructed his wife, Diane.

"Jonathan, that's you're fourth beer today, I think you've had enough," Diane said, worried.

"Don't tell me what to do Diane, or I swear to God I will-" his voice had risen to a shout, but he abruptly stopped when people started staring. "C'mon, we're going home," he muttered tightly.

"But Jonathan, the girls are having such a good time!" She protested. And with this he grabbed her arm and squeezed.

"I. Said. We. Are. Going. Home." He growled, looking straight into her now-terrified eyes. "Go. Get. The. Girls."

She took a deep breath and said, "Alright Jonathan, whatever you say," she sighed in defeat and headed over to get Lizzie.

* * *

><p><strong>Lizzie's POV<strong>

I giggled at Ryan's joke. Then again. Then again. That was probably because I had had a beer, well, and a half, hmmm, maybe two. But I was having a blast with Ryan and he had even introduced me to a bunch of his friends, Lana, Diana (like my mom!), Peris, Danny, the list goes on and on. I flicked my hair over my shoulder and smiled. "Ugh, its so hot out," I said. "I'm taking my shirt off." At this Ryan's eyes grew big. "I have a bathing suit on underneath silly!" I exclaimed. After I took my shirt off I saw Ryan staring at my arm.

"What's on your arm?" He asked, touching it lightly. I flinched, involuntarily.

"It's a bruise silly," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Hey, can I have a swig of that?" I asked, reaching for the bottle he was holding, changing the subject.

"How'd you get it?" he had asked the dreaded question. Crap! I thought. I looked around desperately for an excuse.

"I, uh," I began, when I saw my mom and dad and my stomach sank. "Um, I," I continued, when I saw Dad grab Mom's arm. Oh shitshitshit! I thought, now frantic, "Um, I can't remember," I finished lamely, not even facing Ryan anymore. Now I looked for Casey's flaming head of hair. I saw my mom headed over to me and my dad angrily shoving things into the bag in the background. I scanned the beach again, and finally, I spotted her, down by the water. Was she- chasing a crab? Whatever. "Um, gottago," I said hurriedly to Ryan, I quickly waved goodbye to the rest and set off to get Casey, pretending I hadn't seen my mom, or my dad, or frankly, my horribly-suckish but painfully-real life. "All good things must come to an end," I muttered to myself.

*CRACK!* *CRACK!* I heard the slaps first, then felt them, one on each cheek, how thoughtful. Ughhhhh, I thought, my head swimming from the abuse it had just taken. My head pounded, my cheeks stung, and my shoulders ached from being thrown and pinned against the wall. And this was only the beginning. Dad was yelling something incoherent. He had already disposed of Mom, she was lying unconscious on the floor in the back of the room, by the bathroom. When we got home she had tried to soothe him, but then he slapped her, hard, again and again and again. The she started yelling, but went silent after half-a-dozen cracks. A couple more kicks and punches and she was down. Next victim please step up. He liked to go at us in order, first Mom, then me, and then Case. I winged a prayer that he wouldn't hurt her too badly, but He rarely seemed to help us in these situations. In fact, He never helped us.

But now my eyes began to flutter closed and I was dropped to the ground. Is it over? I thought hazily. No, a little voice in my head said, of course its not over, it never is. Then my dad gave me a vicious, hard kick between the legs, let me tell you, I know its supposed to worse for guys, but it hurt plenty for girls too. "That's for being drunk," a voice snarled.

"Look who's talking," I replied. I immediately regretted it. I regretted it even more after I felt cruel leather dig into my skin, and then a buckle right after, the belt. I tried to pretend I was back on the beach with Ryan, but it wasn't working. Over and over the belt came down, digging into my skin, leaving deep, angry red welts. I had my eyes closed, I just knew this from experience. I'm gonna haveta wear long sleeeavvveeessssss, I thought, my brain moving sluggishly. But…. I was so….. … ... ...so...

* * *

><p><strong>Casey's POV<strong>

When Mommy and Daddy started fighting I slipped into the bedroom. When I heard him yelling nonsense, I hid behind the bed. When I heard him yelling at Lizzie, I hid _under_ the bed. And when I heard footsteps I curled into the tiniest ball possible and tried not to breathe. "CASEY KATHLEEN NOVAK! I KNOW YOU'RE HERE! YOU HAVE UNTIL THE COUNT OF THREE TO COME OUT! 1…2…SO HELP ME CASEY 3!" And with that he began tearing the room apart, searching for, me. Maybe I got away, I thought hopefully to myself. Then I saw a shadow and a hand grabbed my hair and yanked really really hard. I yanked out a squeak, by accident. But Daddy wasn't even paying attention, he had a faraway look in his eyes. But he still had me by my wrists and shook me silly. I heard a 'pop' and felt a sharp pain in my left wrist. I sucked in my breath and tried not to cry out. He dropped me to the ground and kicked me a few times and left. I pretended to be unconscious until he left, when I opened my eyes and waited for Mommy and Lizzie.

* * *

><p><strong>Diane's POV<strong>

When I came to, I was lying on the ground, in the back of the living room… in the cabin at the beach. It all came rushing back to me, Jonathan had wanted another drink, that's what had started this whole thing. But now Jonathan had pulled a disappearing act, probably at a bar somewhere. "Lizzie? Casey?" I called out weakly. I stood up at the room began to swoop, but I held out until the walls stopped swimming. "Lizzie! Casey!" I called out a little louder. This time I heard a groan from the front of the room. "Lizzie! Lizzie talk to me baby!" I called out, as I began stumbling towards her. When I finally got there she was lying on the ground in the corner, cradling her right shoulder, but nothing looked broken. "Anything broken?" I asked, just to be sure.

"No," she replied, "But-ugh! I think I tore a muscle in my shoulder."

"Well, we can fix that. Let's go get Casey." I helped her up and the two of us slowly moved to the bedroom where we all slept. Sure enough Casey was lying on the ground by our bed, eyes wide open. At least she wasn't knocked unconscious like me and Lizzie.

"My wrist hurts," she whispered.

"I know baby. We can fix that." And so I went and got the first aid kit I carried around 'just in case', gave Lizzie a make-shift sling and Casey a splint. We all got ice packs and thankfully I only lightly sprained my ankle. I made dinner and then we went to bed. A few hours later Jonathan stumbled into bed, drunk. I quietly moved into bed with Casey, not wanting to sleep with him. Not that unusual of a night, which had to change. The next day we packed up and headed back to the city. Something had to change. But what could I do? We were catholic? Pray? That really seemed like my only option.

* * *

><p><strong>Still Diane's POV<strong>

That summer brought many changes. It was the summer I started to sleep on the couch, instead of with my 'husband', the summer Lizzie had to get a job as a typist by lying about her age to make ends meet when Jonathan stopped going to work and began to spend his days at the bar. That was the first time I had to give Casey a splint, but not the last. That was the summer our bills began to catch up with us, and it marked the first, but again, not last, hospital visit when Lizzie 'broke her leg on a swing'. That led to a visit form Social Services and fights between me and Lizzie about everything. Yes, that was the summer our lives began to unravel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, long time no update. Sorry. Sometimes life just gets in the way of, well, life. Anywho, with out further ado, here's my latest chapter! Please review! And I promise I'll update more frequently!  
><strong>

**p.s.- If you see any typos feel free to point them out. :)**

**January 20, 1985**

Casey hurried the last five blocks home from school, shivering. She was freezing, mainly because her jacket, which she had had for the past three years, and had been Lizzie's before that, was practically in tatters. Just a little further, she thought. And maybe it'll be warmer at home. Maybe we paid our heating and electric bill this time. Maybe Mom is home cooking, waiting for me. She fumbled for her key, and burst through the door, disappointed.

Casey missed their old home. She and Lizzie had shared a nice big room with a window, a closet, and plenty of space for all their stuff. There were two bathrooms, and living room with matching furniture and a TV that got all sorts of stations. Now they had a small, dark and smelly apartment, with random furniture. She and Lizzie shared the couch and had some plastic bins in the corner to put their stuff in. Casey didn't have many things anymore anyway. Almost all her toys and stuff had been left at their old home, and Mom told her she would get more, but she never did. Whenever she asked her mom would just say, "maybe later Casey." One time she asked when was later, but there was no response to that. Lizzie pulled her aside and whispered "What, are you stupid? Why do you keep asking Mom to buy you stuff? We can't afford anything! We had to sell most of our stuff just to pay off our rent and get this place. Jesus Case!" When she saw Casey's lower lip tremble she knew she had gone too far. She hadn't wanted to upset Casey; she just wanted to spare her mother. "Come on Case," she said, "I'll let you play with my scarf. It wasn't really a scarf, it was a huge bolt of material that had been their grandmother's curtain, but they called it a scarf anyway.

The apartment was bare, as usual. Casey was starving, so she rummaged around for something to eat. Finding nothing, she settled down at their second-hand dining room table to do her homework. After that, she had nothing to do but wait. She wished she had friends who could come over to her house and she could go over to theirs. She wanted a normal life that everyone else seemed to have, just not her. Emily had gotten three new dresses for Christmas, and tons of games that she would bring into school so that she and her friends could play with them during recess. Kyla's father picked her up from school everyday, and swept her into a giant bear hug. Casey had to look away every time this happened. She longed to be Kyla, swept up between her father's arms, safe forever. Jealously is a sin, she reminded herself. They hadn't been to church in over a year, but Casey still prayed every night. She hoped that if she prayed hard enough, her father would go back to the way he used to be, and they could move back into their old apartment.

Casey desperately wanted to have a "normal" life, but she was rapidly losing sight of what really was normal. Normal was now no food, no lights, and her father drunk every night. Her mother and Lizzie tried to hide her from her father, but she knew what was really happening. When she was at school she had looked up Vietnam in the encyclopedia, and learned all about it. Her father had something called PTSD, she still didn't understand what that meant, but she knew that was what made him so angry all the time. And every one knows about drinking, it's what all the Mommys whisper about during parent night, and what the girls gossiped about when they wanted to feel important.

**Lizzie- At Work**

Lizzie Novak hated her life; that she was sure of. She was 19, still living with her goof-for-nothing parents. She'd scram in an instant if not for Casey. Casey. That darling little red head who somehow retained her innocence despite her miserable life. She was the reason why Lizzie put up with the crap that got thrown, kicked and punched at her on a daily basis. It would be so easy, a little voice in her mind said, to end it. End all the pain, the misery, just a little cut, or a little jump, even a mere swallow of a few capsules. Then… bliss. When this happened Lizzie would focus on Casey; she would picture her face, smiling, laughing. She had to stay, for Casey.

"Ms. Novak!" She heard a sharp voice behind her.

"Sorry Mrs. Harrington," Lizzie replied in a monotone, and renewed her flagging efforts at typing the letter in front of her. But Mrs-Bird-Lady-Pluck-Your-Eyes-Out-And-Eat-Them-If-YouDdon't-Do-What-I-Say-Harrington wouldn't leave. She felt the hot breath and heard her panting as th-bitch-who-can-count-on-dinner-and-electricity-and-not-waking-up-with-tons-of-bruises-from-your-father-beating-you-up read her letter.

"Tut-tut Elizabeth, we really must work on your spelling. What will we do with you?" Was it just Lizzie, or was their an edge to that?

With sigh she went back to typing her letter, some notice to employees about a code of conduct. Lizzie almost laughed, a code of conduct? No such thing existed in the world, if it did, then it certainly wasn't upheld by her father. "Punishable by suspension," she typed. If only.

**Novak Apartment- That Night**

"GODDAMNIT IT DIANE!" Jonathan shouted. With another vicious stomp of her foot, he stormed out the door. Diane held her breath, not wanting to make a peep for fear that he might come back. When she heard him stomping down the stairs she knew she was safe. She let out a small sigh, somewhere between a delayed gasp of pain and a sigh of relief, and attempted to stand up. Gritting her teeth as the room was spinning, all the usual thoughts ran through her head. How bad were the injuries? Did they need to go to the hospital? Excuse? How could she treat this herself? But above all, where were the girls? But when her sight finally cleared and she stumbled over to Casey, someone was already there. Lizzie. She had Casey propped up and was rubbing her back in small circles, murmuring to her.

"L-Lizzie, w-what are you d-doing?" Diane finally managed to choke out.

"Doing what _you_ can't." The edge to her voice was razor sharp. Suddenly, Diane felt a surge of anger towards her daughter. Who did she think she was? She was the mother here!

"Oh yeah? What's the excuse for that?' Diane snarled, angrily gesturing at a new bruise covering most of Casey's face and neck.

"Really!" Lizzie's eyes almost jumped out of their sockets. "Your _darling husband_," She said, spitting out the words with all the hate she could muster, "Just _beat the crap_ out of your eleven year old daughter, and all you can think about is protecting him?" Lizzie was screeching now, unable to stop herself. "I can't believe you! What kind of sick person are you? You care more about him than you do Casey, your own _daughter_! How the hell did you become a mother?" Lizzie was on a roll now, letting out all her pent up anger from all those years of abuse. There had been fights before, but none this bad. Lizzie took a deep breath, "Maybe we should just let Social Services take Case away. All this family crap isn't worth a single penny." She was no longer screaming, and at first glance one might've thought Lizzie was actually fine. But the hurt, the betrayal, the disappointment was written all over her face. And then she spun on her heels and stomped out the door, mimicking her father's steps less than 30 minutes ago.

Casey was finally asleep. I sat down slowly, leaned back and closed my eyes, but pictures kept flashing through my brain, Lizzie yelling, screaming, stomping out the door. She still hadn't returned, and her words still echoed in my head. "How the hell did you become a mother?" "You care more about him than your own daughters!" and then her scarily-calm piece at the end, "Maybe we should just let Social Services take Case away." While I was putting Casey to bed, she had asked me why I was moving so slowly. I didn't respond, and our conversation or lack there of, died. What I didn't tell her was that I was falling apart at the seams, I was a fragile glass bottle, one tap and I would shatter into a million pieces. What I didn't tell her was that I was dreading coming home every night, and that I wished I could drown reality in a bottle. Sometimes I wished I could crawl into a bottle and die. Some days I hated myself, my life, so much, I could barely drag myself out of bed. Some days… some days, some day, some day! Some day Casey should not have to live like this, Lizzie's time may have come and gone, and the damage was done, but it wasn't too late for Casey. I jumped up, scrambled for the phone and hastily dialed. With baited breath I waited as the phone rang. "Social Services, how may I help you?"

"Social Services, how may I help you?" Suddenly, my throat closed, I choked on my own words. Am I really doing the right thing? The I thought of Lizzie, screaming at her, Casey, lying unconscious on the ground. Yes, I'm doing the right thing. "Hello?" said the voice on the other end of the phone "Is anyone there? Okay, I'm hanging up now…"

"No!" I almost screamed, it had to happen now. My throat seized up again, but this time I fought through it, "I'd- I'd like to report, um," she cleared her voice, hesitating at the last moment, "abuse," she whispered. There. It was done. Now the world knew what a monster my husband was. Now Lizzie wouldn't hate me. Now God could forgive me for my sins.

"Okay, Miss, do you know where the abuse is taking place? To whom? And can I have your name and address?"

I hesitated one last time. I could still hang up, and no one would know the better. But my mouth moved on its own accord. "There's this father, he beats his two girls and his, um, his wi-wife every night. I cleared my throat before nailing the coffin shut. "31 west Chamber Street. Apartment 3A"

"And your name?" the woman continued smoothly, as if she heard that all the time, which, she probably did.

"Diane Novak," she whispered "31west Chamber Street, apartment 3A."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry guys, two words, writer's block.**

**Without further ado...**

**(p.s. _italics_ mean thoughts)**

**(p.p.s. gets very dark towards the end, major violence, but this is svu)**

**January 21. 1985- 911 Operator Station**  
>I felt bad for that poor woman, I really did. I wrote it down under urgent (just like everything else) and told myself that I was going to tell Mr. McGrath first<p>

thing. That woman had so much courage; I remember thinking, right after I got off the phone with her. But then a call came in about two different murders

and some crazy carrying off a Park Avenue girl, and I will have to admit, the woman slipped my mind. At twelve o'clock my shift ended and I went home. It

was pouring rain, which only added to my misery. Finally, I got home and crawled into bed.

The next morning I went in, clutching my precious coffee. When I saw my desk I almost dropped my mug. I had one of the most coveted desk spots there

was, one right in front of a window. I had opened it as far as I could last night, trying to let a cool breeze in. But when I left last night I had forgotten to

close it, and it was raining cats and dogs. This morning, when I walked in it looked like a tornado had torn across my desk. All my papers were soaked, ink

running from the paper like water down Niagara Falls. I could pick out a word here, a letter there, but otherwise it was indecipherable.

"Damn," I muttered, and scribbled down what I could remember from last night. It went something like this:

Park Avenue girl taken  
>Murder in lower east side and midtown<br>Abuse downtown

When I saw this I was disgusted with myself. Yes my job meant long hours and dead ends, but I was proud of what I did. But no matter how much I

racketed my brain, I couldn't remember anymore, except a name, Diane Novak. Which crime, where and when she was linked to, I couldn't recall. _Diane _

_Novak_, I muttered to myself. _Diane Novak, Diane Novak, damnit!_

**January 22, 1985- Novak apartment**  
><strong>"<strong>Mother," Lizzie said, doing her best to avoid eye contact while standing in the doorway.

"Lizzie, you're back! Where have you been all week, I've been so worried!" Diane gushed, but Lizzie cut her off with a snort.

"Look, I'm just here to pick some stuff up, and then I'm going back over to Derek's."

"D-Derek? Who's that? And why aren't you staying?" Diane whispered, her fragile hopes dashed.

"Well, I'm just living with him," Lizzie responded, flustered. "And besides, who would want to live here anyway?" Her eyes hardened, showing that she still

hadn't forgotten what happened the week before, and wasn't going to forgive her mother yet, if ever.

"Lizzie," Diane pleaded, her eyes wide, "OI called 911, they said they were sending someone! They said everything would be fixed! I need you Lizzie! Come

back!" She became louder and more desperate with each sentence. "Casey needs you!" she cried, loud enough for the next door neighbors to hear.

"Ever thought," Lizzie muttered tightly "That I need myself, just as much?" This question seemed to stir something in the old Diane, the one who kept the

girls cheerful and told them everything would be a-okay.

"We all need ourselves," she responded sadly, "It's just a question of who needs us more. Lizzie, please, come home," For a moment Lizzie's eyes flickered,

bit then she responded, weary, "Not today."

"Mom?" Casey's voice drifted from the kitchen, "is there anything to-" She stopped short with a gasp. "Lizzie!" She squealed, and gave her sister a running

tackle.

"Ow, ow, not so hard. Ugh, why are you so bony?" Lizzie groaned, although secretly glad to see her sister, as she pried Casey off of her. "Oh Casey, I've

missed you so much," Lizzie said with a smile, ruffling her hair. Casey was the only person in her life who never failed to bring a smile to her face.

"Then why haven't you come home? Why did you leave?" Casey asked, no longer ecstatic. Her eyes were accusing. At this, Lizzie's face fell.

"I-I-" she glanced at her mother, hesitantly. No matter what issues they had between them, there was thing that both of them wanted to save, no matter

what. Casey.

"Why don't we... make cookies?" Diane said brightly.

**Three hours later**  
>The counter was covered in flour, sugar, baking soda and the like, the sink was full of dishes and the apartment smelled heavenly. The whole place seemed<p>

like a brighter and happier place than it had three hours ago. Diane and Lizzie sat on the second hand couch, drinking coffee and eating muffins hot out of

the oven. Casey was asleep, her head resting on Lizzie's lap, her body on Diane's. Neither wanted to mention the elephant in the room, so instead they sat

there, drinking in the sights and smells of their apartment, which, for the first time in a very long time, felt like home. But not for long.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and both their heads snapped in the direction of the door. "I should go," Lizzie murmured, and for once, Diane didn't

object. "Bye mom," she said quickly, and gave Diane a peck on the cheek.

"Wait-" Diane said abruptly "you'll- you'll come back right?"

"Uh, yeah- yeah sure," Lizzie replied absentmindedly as she stuffed her feet into her shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces. She grabbed her bag and

was about to leave when Diane suddenly stood up. "Lizzie," she said urgently

"Not now, mom, later 'kay?" she said with a rush. The footsteps were getting closer, she thought desperately. _I'll head up the stairs, going the other way_ she

thought desperately. _He'll see me, but maybe he won't recognize me. I'll just wait until he's inside and then slip down the stairs. Inside... with... Casey. _Her heart

sank, and she hesitated for a moment. But in that moment, the door burst open.

Lizzie looked up and glared. "You smell like booze," she said flatly, "And I'm leaving," she said as she tried to push her way past her drunk father. Had she

turned around and glanced at her mother, she would've seen Diane's eyes widen in surprise, fear, and hope. She would've seen Diane give a tiny smile of

encouragement to her daughter, for standing up to the man who she had never been able to, for however briefly. But she also would've seen Diane wake

Casey up, hustle her into the bedroom and return, only to sit back on the couch, and not move a muscle.

"I don't think so," he growled, and hauled her back by the arm. Lizzie let out a little whimper, but that only made Jonathan squeeze tighter. Her heart

pounding in her chest, she forced herself to look her father in the eye. His eyes were glazed over, and he was sweating profusely. _This is not my father,_

Lizzie told herself. _I love my father; he bought me my first bike and put a dime under my pillow when I lost my first tooth. My father is the man who baptized me, _

_and read me Goodnight Moon every night for a year. My father is a valiant, caring man who fought bravely in Vietnam. _"This is not my father," she whispered to

herself, her father caught that.

"What did you say?" he roared.

"I said," she began, forcing herself once more to look straight into his eyes, searching for that caring man, but he was long gone. "I said that- that. I said

nothing," she finally said. Defeated, she stared into her shoes and expected the worst.

"That's right," he gloated, "You said nothing." And with that he punched her as hard as he could in the stomach, nearly bringing her to her knees, if he

hadn't had a cruel grip on her forearm. All thoughts exited Lizzie's mind as she struggled to breathe. "You are nothing," he hissed, his words striking her like

daggers, and he punched her in the stomach, just as hard, again. This time, he let go of her arm and she dropped to the floor, desperately trying not to

throw up. Diane stood up, timidly, "Jonathan? Jonathan?" she all but whispered.

"SHUT UP DIANE!" Jonathan roared. He whirled around and gave his wife a look of pure loathing. "GET OUT YOU STUPID WHORE!" he screamed, and Diane

fled. During this time, Lizzie had curled up in a ball, in feeble effort to protect herself.

Diane ran to the bedroom and searched frantically for Casey. "Casey," she whispered urgently, "Casey, c'mon!" She searched under the bed, in the closet,

behind the curtains. When she even yanked open the dresser drawers, she saw a glint of red hair in the corner/ "Casey c'mon! We don't have all day!" With

a little wiggling, Casey's concerned young face popped into view.

"What's going to happen to Lizzie? Is Daddy going to hurt her real bad?" Saying it out loud nearly cut Diane in two, but she remained strong.

"We have to go, just, let's go." But there was nowhere to go, Diane realized. Jonathan was outside, and if he saw her with Casey there was no telling what

he might do. She looked frantically around, finally her eyes landing on the window, and beyond that, the fire escape.

"Oh no you don't," Jonathan snarled and kicked Lizzie savagely, in the back several times. "You are nothing! You are nothing! YOU ARE NOTHING!" Seeing

red, she heard little, but that didn't make a difference. "You filthily stupid whore! You little bitch! You're a slut, you know that? A dirty little slut!" He grabbed

her hair and yanked up, hard. Tears streaming down Lizzie's face, she stumbled to her feet. "C'mon," he said, and began dragging her to the bedroom.

"No! No! NonononoNONONONONO!" Lizzie screamed, her head clearing when she realized what was happening. She twisted and scrambled, but to no avail.

Even drunk, Jonathan still outweighed his daughter by well over fifty pounds. He laughed; it was a short, harsh laugh, and really more like a bark, but a

laugh all the same. He wrenched her face up by her hair, and slapped Lizzie across her face, almost knocking her down, again.

"Don't worry little slut, this'll only hurt... a lot. But you'll like it, just like your mother dearest did." With a nasty grin, he once more resumed dragging Lizzie

across the apartment.

"No," Lizzie whimpered, softly.

"Say 'no' one more time and you won't wake up tomorrow." He threatened, and slapped her across the face twice more and then kicked her behind the

legs. Lizzie fell to her knees. _Please God, please, please, please, , take me away_, she thought miserably.

When they got to the bedroom Jonathan threw her to the ground and walked over to the windows. While he was closing the limp curtains, which kept out

little, he said, almost casually. "You better have your clothes off by the time I count to three." Horrified, she could do nothing but lay there, wondering if God

would intervene and spare her. "1...2...3..." he turned around, and saw Lizzie lying exactly where he had left her. "Tsk, tsk, Elizabeth," He said, address her

for the first time since he had walked through the door.

"Please," she implored, "I'm, I'm your _daughter_, please," she looked into his eyes, trying to persuade him, but that was a mistake.

"Get on your knees and beg prettily later. But that won't help you," he said harshly. "For now..." he lunged at her and wrapped his hands around her throat.

When they were both on the ground he roughly ripped her shirt and grabbed her breasts. When she let out a cry, he twisted so he was on top. He pinned

his knee on her throat so she couldn't scream and twisted as hard as he could. "Beg." he commanded. His eyes were coal black and sparkling with thrill.

_Where has my father gone?_ Lizzie thought, but she did as commanded.

"Please, I won't tell, I'll leave and you'll never see me again. Just please," she said, crying.

"Too bad that won't be happening anytime soon." Flipping her over he tore her pants off and mounted her like a dog.

Lizzie threw her head back and screamed with all her breath. "HELP!"

Held in her mother's arms, Casey, out on the fire escape, heard Lizzie's scream. It was terrifying, horrifying, and she had never heard anything like that,

ever. She looked at her mother but she was sitting still, staring at nothing, and not doing anything. "Mommy!" Casey screamed.

"MommymommymommymommyMOMMY!" When she didn't get a response, she wriggled out of her arms and ran up to fire escape, to the roof. _Lizzie_, she

thought miserably.

Downstairs, the man also beating his wife paused when he heard the scream. _Thank God it's her and not me_, the wife thought bitterly.

Down the hall, the superintendent, heard the scream. And paused for a moment, but then resumed his task. _What goes on in that apartment is their business_,

he thought grimly.

Upstairs, the teenager making love to her boyfriend paused and murmured in his ear "What was that?"

"That," he replied, "is passion," and began to kiss her with hunger.

Two floors up a young woman chasing after her toddler paused. "_It sounds like someone is dying_, she thought. Scooping up her toddler, she tiptoed down

two flights of stairs. The door was open a crack. _I'll just poke my head in_... she thought. The screaming had stopped, but she heard voices in one of the

rooms. She stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. "Tell me you like it," she heard a deep, male voice float out the door. _Ohmygod, what is going on?_

Her heart pounding, she took another hesitant step into the apartment. When the floorboard creaked, she froze. "What was that?" she heard the same

voice say. "Lizzie what did you do?" it thundered. I didn't do anything, I didn't do anything," a young, female voice sobbed. "Please believe me Daddy!"

The woman gasped and her toddler let out a wail. "DIANE!" the man hollered. _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, I have to get out of here! _Panicked, the woman

fled back to the safety of her own apartment, locked the door and put the chain on. Still not satisfied, she hauled her dining room table into her front

hallway and pushed it against the door. Her toddler was still screaming, but she ran for the phone instead. "911, how may I help you," a voice answered.

"I- I just witnessed a rape."


	6. Chapter 6

******Sorry, this may be a little difficult to read, literally, since the lines are so close together. It's also very dark, just a warning. Otherwise, enjoy and please review!**

**January 22, 1985 (the next day):**

"Lizzie, please, get up" Casey begged her older sister, but to no avail. After Casey had wormed her way free from her mother, she had scrambled down the fire escape, her mother following. She had heard Lizzie scream and thought she had been hurt. Daddy had been getting very mad when they slipped out. When she had climbed back through the window, her father was gone and Lizzie was lying on the floor. She picked her up as best she could, brought her to the couch and covered her with blankets. Meanwhile, her mother had made some tea and even a little soup, but Lizzie wouldn't eat. Guiltily, Casey had eaten it, but she had been very hungry. Now, a day later, Lizzie was still lying on the couch, and a new cup of tea was getting cold. When Casey thought her mother was looking away, she tried to take a quick sip, but Diane whirled around and snapped at her.

"Casey! That's for Lizzie!" When Casey's eyes started to water, Diane knew she had been to sharp, but Casey couldn't drink that. "Why don't you go out and buy a sandwich," she more softly, and handed Casey a bit of money. Casey's eyes widened and she nodded and ran off. Diane felt guilty for just bribing her younger daughter, but she needed to talk to Lizzie.

"Lizzie, drink your tea," Diane ordered, not exactly harshly, but close enough. Lizzie didn't say anything, only rolled over. "Lizzie," Diane said, sitting on the edge of the couch, you can't do this, drink your tea. I-I put something in it, just, just in case," she was fumbling for words. How was she supposed to explain that she had failed as a mother, let her abusive husband do such things, to her daughter, of all people. God knows she had suffered through that for years as Jonathan had gotten progressively worse and worse, but how did it get this bad? _What has our family come to?_ Diane thought.

Then, after a few moments, Lizzie rolled back over and reached for her tea. Pushing her head upright she awkwardly sipped her tea. After she was done, she resumed her previous position, and fell asleep again.  
><em>Oh Lizzie,<em> Diane though mournfully as she stroked her hair. It had been such a long time since she had been allowed to do that, stroke Lizzie's hair. Her hair was not as vibrant of a red as Casey's, it was lighter, and had more brown in it, more like Diane's light brown hair, and very unlike _There was a picture_, she reflected, _ of when Casey was a toddler, and Lizzie couldn't have been more than nine or ten. Jonathan was overseas in Vietnam, and I still loved him back then. The three of us were lined up in my mother's backyard, in these silly matching print dresses she had sewn by hand. It was an amazing picture, the flowers in the background complemented the flowers on the dresses, and we were lined up, youngest to oldest, lightest to darkest. _She had made a copy of it and sent it to Jonathan, but she didn't know if he ever got it or not.

A sharp rap on the door jerked Diane back to the present. With butterflies in her stomach, she timidly called out "Jonathan?"  
>"No, NYPD," a gruff, male voice responded. Diane breathed a sigh of relief, but then realized the multitude of reasons why they could be here. Should any of their secrets be discovered, Case would be torn away from her and she would probably never see Lizzie again either. But it was too late, she had already called out, revealing her presence.<br>"NYPD open up!" the man yelled again, more forcefully this time. Unintentionally, Diane flinched.  
>"Coming," she said, striding towards the door in what she hoped was a confident manor. She opened the door to two men of great contrast. Both were about six feet, but one was buff and muscular, the other, skinny and wiry. The muscular one had a buzz cut of light blond hair, the skinny one, long dark brown, nearly black hair that was desperately in need of a cut. Unsurprisingly, it had been the blond one who had pounded on the door.<br>Now the dark-haired one spoke. "Hello Miss," he said in a polite voice, "I'm Detective Jason Kent of the 16th precinct, and this is my partner-" His apparent partner was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, and glaring at Diane suspiciously. "Detective Frey." He said brusquely, striding into the messy apartment. The dishes left from yesterday's baking celebration were still in the sink, and Diane sensed that that didn't fail to catch Detective Frey's eyes.  
>"Nice place you keep here," he said snarkily. Detective Jason punched him on the arm, and Diane blushed.<br>"We've been away," she said quietly. "Um Detectives, can I offer you anything to drink? coffee? tea?"

"No thank you," Jason replied with a smile, "although its very kind of you to offer. And please, call me Jason," he said warmly.

"I'm Diane Novak," she said, returning Jason's warm gaze, somewhat hesitantly.

Suddenly, Detective Frey cut in "We have a report of rape in this apartment around yesterday afternoon. What do you know?" He did not notice Diane flinch and her eyes dart towards Lizzie at the word rape.

"I, maybe-, no?" she stammered.

"Yes or no?" Frey interrupted, again. Jason had been surreptitiously looking around, when he spotted Lizzie on on couch.

Miss? Miss?" he said, tapping her on the shoulder. Her eyes widened and she flipped over as fast as she could to see Jason for a splitting second, before curling up in the tiniest ball she could get herself. In that moment Jason instantly cataloged the bruised on her face, scratches on her hands and torn hair roots. He began to put together the puzzle pieces and looked over at Diane, who was wearing a well-worn long sleeved shirt and an pair of faded jeans.

"Mommy?" A little voice from the doorway came in, holding a bag of fresh sandwiches, confused.

"This is my daughter, Casey," Diane said to the detectives, in a voice as level as she could manage.

"And who's that?" Frey said, pointing to Lizzie.

"That's my other daughter, Elizabeth,"

"I see," was all Frey had to say. "And who was raped?" Again, Diane flinched, but this time, Jason noticed.

"Ms. Novak, are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, of course," she replied, with a sudden interest in a piece of lint on her sleeve.

"She wasn't, I was," a hoarse voice said. Everyone turned around, to see Lizzie lying on the couch, eyes half closed, yet glaring made a soft, in-distinguishably noise, but neither detective heeded her any attention.

"Sit up," Frey barked, "Who raped you?" Lizzie obeyed the command and sat up shakily, still leaning on the couch. Lizzie opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it. _Do I really want this?_ she thought, for a second. Then she shook her head, of course she did!

"My, my father did," she said in a plaintive, timid voice. Honestly, she had no energy to say anything else; she figured they would just go away and do their police work or whatever. Jason's eyebrows furrowed, and you could tell he was thinking intently on what she had said.

"Are you sure?" Jason asked after a moment. Lizzie's mouth dropped open in disbelief, as did Diane's.

"Detectives, I'll, I'll testify," Diane sputtered.

"On what?" Frey sounded oddly bored now. "By your own admission you have no idea what happened. All we have is a..." he gave Lizzie a quick one-over, "_disturbed_ young girl who clearly doesn't even know what rape is." Lizzie was incredulous, why weren't they tripping over themselves to arrest her dad? All she could feel was a steady rage building in her chest, smouldering. One little spark might set it off.

"Ok," Jason said soothingly, sensing that the emotions were running high. "Let's say your father did rape you," he started, earning death glares from the Novak women and his partner. "What happened? What set him off? Why would he even do something like that?" Frey, figured out where his partner was going with this line of questioning, and joined in.

"What would be his motive? And why you? Would consider yourself promiscuous?" At that word Diane and Lizzie snapped.

"I think you two should go now," Diane stated in a flat, steel tone. She didn't bother with niceties like "gentlemen" or detectives".

Lizzie on the other hand, lost it. "How dare you?" she started screaming at them. "I have done nothing wrong! It was that- that BASTARD WHO, HE-" she was fumbling for words, not able to think straight over her rage.

Meanwhile, Jason and Frey simply exchanged glances, and left quietly. Casey, too, had observed the whole debacle unfold, and only had one question.

"Mommy? What's a rape?" she asked, in her defense, completely innocently, but nonetheless, was something neither Lizzie nor Diane were equipped to deal with.

"It's something very bad," Diane said wearily, "Now, just go back to the bedroom 'kay?"

**February 19, 1985 (Lizzie POV)**  
>I've been at the bar all day. I'm underage, but who cares. Who cares about me, about anyone? After days of my mother begging me to do something, I did. I screamed at her, which I seem to be doing an awful lot lately. I screamed that she didn't care about me, threatened to go to the police, (like it worked last time) all the usual. Her face crumbled, as per usual, and I instantly felt bad, also as per usual. But not bad enough to apologize and stay. Instead I ran out the door and to the nearest bar. To my disgust, my father was there, drunk out of his mind, laughing with some friends, drinking buddies, whatever. Seeing his triggered all sorts of nasty memories that were still all too fresh in my mind. So I did the next logical thing, went to the pharmacy and bought a razor.<br>It felt so good, so sweet. I had cut myself a few times before in the past after a bad "encounter" with my dad or fight with my mom. But this time, it was different. It was in the bar bathroom, a different one than where I had seen my dad. I hurt so much, I was so dirty, inside and out. The words "would you consider yourself promiscuous?" keep ringing in my head. "NO!" I want to scream, but I can't. So I cut. _1,2,3, look at me_, they scream; _4,5,6, what a fix_, they seem to chant. My vision starts to blur around the corners but I can't seem to stop. Like a woman possessed, I move to the other arm, _7,8,9, isn't this sublime_, they murmur, as black dots swim in my eyes, but I push on. 10...11..., and then I collapse. The last thing I remember is a lot of blood pooling on the floor.


End file.
